


You Never Need to Doubt It

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4352591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d been arguing. They’d only had a couple big blow-ups before whatever it is they’ve been going through over the past few months. Petty stuff, inconsequential, easily resolved. Lately it was like neither of them could say anything right, it always came close to a physical altercation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Never Need to Doubt It

They’d been arguing. They’d only had a couple big blow-ups before whatever it is they’ve been going through over the past few months. Petty stuff, inconsequential, easily resolved. Lately it was like neither of them could say anything right, it always came close to a physical altercation. Stiles’ hands itched to lash out, his feet would surge forward against his volition. 

They hadn’t hit each other, but the vibe between them had been fraught. Like the center of a battle, the middle of a war. So when Scott had pressed him up against the wall, told him to stay, Stiles had launched himself into his space. And somehow they hadn’t wrestled, or rough-housed, or continued to push. They’d kissed.

Stiles’ lips had found Scott’s and he’d pumped every frustration, every annoyance, every vexation into opening him up and taking claim. And it should have stopped there, but it hasn’t.

They’ve made it to Scott’s bed, Stiles sitting on the edge, hard wood digging into the backs of his knees.

Stiles has pushed Scott’s sweats down his ass, is grasping hold of his hip as he rocks them together. Scott’s straddling him, but he’s hampered by their clothes, the odd arrangement of their limbs, so he keeps making pretty little groans that rush straight to Stiles’ cock. He sounds pained, desperate, like he’d do anything to feel Stiles coring into him. His boxers are straining, the fabric already damp. 

It must hurt, the way Stiles is biting into his lower lip, the curl of his fingers into his warm flesh. He wonders why Scott isn’t just as harsh, why his hands are cradling the back of his head instead of tugging on his hair.

It’s a dark thought, a painful one – is this a form of punishment for Scott?

Stiles eases back, watches Scott’s dazed eyes gain back some semblance of cognition. He doesn’t want to hurt Scott. 

“Why do you want this?” he asks, but his hips can’t stop driving, won’t stop rocking up and into the warm beacon of Scott’s body.

“Why do you?” Scott counters.

And Stiles doesn’t know, can’t say, except that it’s the first thing in a long time that makes sense to him, except the throb of their bodies has him aching, except he’s hunching deeper, harder without conscious -- 

“Stop thinking and fucking touch me, Stiles,” Scott huffs out.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” Stiles replies, moving his hands until they’re around Scott’s ass now, spreading his cheeks a little so he can touch, so he can _feel_. “That’s like me telling you off for being sarcastic. Too hypocritical.”

“You think I care?” Scott asks, and petulant is a good look on him. His dark eyes look darker, his pout pushes out his plump lower lip.  
Stiles moves until his fingers glance over Scott’s hole and Scott shudders, whole bodied, eyes flickering shut. 

“Yeah,” Scott moans, legs tightening against Stiles’ waist with enough force he’s just shy of crushing him. It isn’t _punishment_.

Stiles kisses him again, long and drugging, like he can read Scott’s soul and know his motivations. Scott moves against him, arcs up, wriggling. Stiles goes to move his hands, but is halted by fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist, urging him to keep. Stiles doesn’t know what Scott’s doing, can only feel the stretch of his neck tilting and insistent hold Scott has on him. Before long, Scott’s weight settles against him again and he realizes as he draws his fingers over his skin that he’s unfettered, naked from the hips down. 

Scott scratches softly against his scalp, licks into his mouth, ruts like he can’t help himself.

Stiles pulls away once more, helps Scott ease up his shirt, strips off his own. He looks down at Scott, at the golden gleam of him, the cut of his muscles, the smoothness of his skin. He draws his free hand, the one that isn’t still firmly planted on Scott’s perfect ass, into the wiry curl of his happy trail.

Scott’s dick is deep, burnished red, thickened, hard, and dripping. Makes Stiles’ tongue feel too large for his mouth. He wants to taste the precome slicking over the head, wants to get his lips around that heated skin. 

But – “Want you inside me,” Scott whines, lust-drunk, wild and demanding. He shifts until Stiles’ fingers are touching his hole once more, brushing against that tight, desperate furl. 

Stiles wants that too. Wants to be where he knows Scott’s hot and gripping. 

It isn’t elegant, the way they rearrange themselves to get lube and condoms. Stiles isn’t proud of how he almost tips over and rolls onto the floor, only stopping because Scott grabs for him, arm bracing against his chest. Scott looks him in the eye, eyebrow quirked, and Stiles shrugs, sheepish.

Soon, it doesn’t matter. Scott’s seated over his thighs, one hand planted on Stiles’ shoulder as Stiles slicks his fingers and presses into him, gently. God, he’s _tight_ , screwing up against the pads of Stiles’ fingers until Scott lets out a sigh and noticeably, impossibly relaxes. Stiles edges in incrementally, imagining the sensation, wondering how it must feel to have a need only partway fulfilled. It isn’t _enough_ , he knows it isn’t nearly what’s necessary, so he jolts in and in and in, loosening Scott the way he does to himself sometimes, quick and dirty, and just this side of mean.

“This what you want?” Stiles asks, because he wants to hear Scott’s voice, the thrum of it, the strain.

“Not yet,” Scott says, even breathier than he expected, rough. “Close.”

Stiles is distressingly hard, feverish. The want in him feels monstrous, difficult to contain. He bucks against Scott, finger-fucking him with deep, deliberate jutting. Two fingers, three, deep, past the second knuckle. He crooks his fingers until he finds yet another part of Scott he’s never known before, yet another thing that makes him seem brand new. Scott pants for him, eyes shock-wide and unfocused. Stiles wonders what they look like together in the slanted moonlight; sexy or pathetic, canting into each other like it’s their first time.

It is their first time together. That has to count for something. 

He thinks maybe they might look devoted, because all he cares about is Scott; his desires, his pleasure. And Scott’s been carding his hands through his hair, snuffling at the thin skin behind his ear. Scott’s been arching into him with steady, well-timed jolts that have been as much a challenge as they are a promise.

Scott loosens in time, hole pulsing, slutty and needy. He nudges his lips against Stiles’ Adam’s apple and sucks, an effective distraction as he takes hold of Stiles’ cock and sinks down on it. A breath punches out of Stiles at the heat and sensation. Even through the membrane of the condom, Scott is stifling. Stiles thinks he shouldn’t feel so sensitive, but he _does_ with every drag of their bodies. He thrusts so hard Scott bounces, small surprised sounds startled out of him. 

“Feel me deep inside you, Scotty?” Stiles asks, barely making sense to himself.

“Yeah, Stiles, it’s good.”

“Only good?”

Scott nuzzles at his neck, teethes at him. “You’re talking instead of moving. It could be better.”

Stiles is – he has never been so offended in his _life_. He shuts his mouth closed with a snap, puts all his energy into lifting Scott off his cock and slamming him down again, knees surging up, hands edging him close into his body. He fucks into him with all his strength, until his chest is going tight and sweat’s dripping down his forehead. Scott’s grinning whenever Stiles catches sight of him, whenever he’s stopped kissing his torso or bite-reddened lips. Scott flexes around him, using some of his own strength to slam himself down, make it rougher, faster.

And Stiles doesn’t have grace, but he has stamina. While he used to be on a hair trigger, able to come twice in the space of a half hour, he’s mostly trained himself out of teenaged torment and can edge himself to the point of distraction. All he has to do is focus on something other than his yearning urge to come. With Scott quivering before him, that’s not so hard. Scott’s always been the one to have the lion’s share of his attention. Or should that be wolf?

He kisses Scott so fiercely he leaves him gasping, lips wide open and glistening. He sucks at his nipples until they’re firm, pink peaks, craning his head down, down further to lick a trail up his sternum. If he could contort himself more, he’d mouth at Scott’s cock, choke him down and bring him off at his leisure. He tests it for a second, but it hurts too much, and Scott eases him back, grunting so prettily he just wants to try again.

It’s unnecessary. Scott jets all over them both after another few thrusts, cock spurting high, come thin and nearly translucent, copious. His face is scrunched up, bliss-filled.

“Still gonna describe this as simply good?” Stiles enquires, heady with satisfaction. Scott’s clenching around him in a heartbeat-emulating throb, and he’s going to come so, so soon, but he wants to gloat first.

“I can’t tell if you’re insufferable or adorable when you’re like this,” Scott mumbles, but he tips their foreheads together, nudges at Stiles’ nose and whispers, “Perfect. You’re perfect, Stiles.”

Stiles comes before Scott finishes saying his name, hand bracing Scott’s lower back so he can grind into him. The aftershocks are jagged, almost frightening in their intensity, and he’s fairly sure he cries out, his throat feeling sore. 

Scott rises up, away, ignoring Stiles’ confused murmur for him. He returns with a washcloth, the waste paper basket he keeps by his desk. His gait is loose, lazy. _Well-fucked_ , Stiles’ mind supplies. _Sated_.

“I don’t remember why I was angry with you,” Scott says as he helps clean Stiles up. “But I’m sure I had a very good reason.”

“What makes you say that?”

Scott takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, shoulders tensing and loosening. “Because I’m still kind of angry?”

“Yeah, well…” Stiles begins. He had a biting retort lined up, but he looks at Scott, at the bow of his body and the lines around his mouth, and it dies on his lips. “You’re allowed to be angry sometimes.” 

His legs are weary and his heart’s a mess, but he wants Scott to understand that he isn’t alone, that he doesn’t have to take on everyone’s burdens by himself. He wraps an arm around Scott, pulls him tight. 

“You know that, don’t you? You’re allowed to have feelings, Scott. It’s okay for you to be angry, or sad, or anxious. Being strong doesn’t mean you close yourself off and shut down. You don’t have to let your frustrations out _in disguise_.”

Scott’s expression clears and he gazes at Stiles as if seeing him for the first time. “Yeah?”

Stiles presses a kiss to his cheek. “Definitely.”

“So this was a one-off?” Scott asks next, sounding dejected, hurt. Stiles can see the veil of responsibility shuttering down over him again, can already imagine Scott acting like it’s no big deal, like he’s content with what he’s been given – when it’s obviously a lie, clearly not even close to the truth.

“We are absolutely doing that again. Multiple times. In many different ways. If you want.”

“Why do you want this?” Scott asks, tone hard to pin down. Stiles thinks he might actually be teasing? But he can’t say for certain. He strokes his fingers up Scott’s spine, wraps them around the nape of his neck and gives him a little shake.

“Because you’re allowed to feel happy too. And I wanna be the one who helps you realize that.”

Stiles thinks, maybe for the first time in months, that he’s said something right. Scott kisses him, affectionate, giving, like he wants to change Stiles’ world, wants to fill it with light and laughter and joy. Stiles’ hands are still itching, but it’s to hold Scott. His feet keep moving, but only because he wants to be as close as he can be. And he thinks if there’s a battle, they’ll be facing it side by side.


End file.
